


A Sky Far Away

by SeaDreaming



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Astronomy, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Manipulative Tom, Riddle Era, Soul Bond, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27207877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaDreaming/pseuds/SeaDreaming
Summary: [Re-upload] Harry is mysteriously sent back in time on the night his parents were murdered without any knowledge that he's from the future. He ends up in 1927 and is found on the doorstep of Wool's Orphanage. The resident bully, Tom Riddle, hates him for no apparent reason—yet, the two have an inexplicable connection with one another (which isn't helped by the fact that Harry can see into Tom's mind). As if things couldn't get any stranger, he is also haunted by dreams that feel more like memories from a different time.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 20
Kudos: 97





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm going to be straight-up with you guys—I probably won't finish this story unless inspiration smacks me in the face. I truly apologize to all of those who'd hoped that this story would have an end but writing as a hobby just isn't something I have much time for anymore and I don't want to get anyone's hopes up. So, why am I re-uploading? It's been four years since I originally posted this story and over a year since I took it down and I still get people reaching out to me on my FF.net account, asking me to put it back up so they can read it again. I was very hesitant to do this at first, simply because I feel like there are many, many things in this story I could've done better. If I have the time, I may fix some of the things I disliked the most.
> 
> It's actually thanks to a user named Severus_divides_into_H that I even have a copy of this story to upload, considering I'd lost it a little while back after some computer problems.
> 
> So, this is for you guys to enjoy as you please :]

**October 31st, 1981**

Godric's Hollow was a quiet place, lined with quaint homes inhabited by friendly, welcoming people. The picturesque image lured a person into a false sense of security, leading them to believe that nothing bad ever happened there. It was humble, it was familiar, it was safe. However, on that night, the streets were restless with unease and foreboding. The trees rustled, the animals stirred, and the air became thick with dread. The serene darkness was broken only when the entirety of Godric's Hollow was momentarily illuminated by two brilliant flashes of green. When it faded, all became still.

Inside one of the homes, a tall, cloaked figure stood over the body of a young woman. She was lying at an awkward angle, her torso twisted and one leg bent beneath her. Her bright red hair was a tangled mess around her face and her now lifeless green eyes stared up at the ceiling. The desperation of her last moments still glistened in the tears lingering on her cheeks.

The figure merely stepped over her with disregard and made his way across the room towards his true target. Inside of a crib was a small child, merely a year old, who was clutching a stuffed animal in the shape of a black dog. The cloaked figure raised his wand, causing the boy to look up with a pair of impossibly green eyes. They were so much like his mother's yet somehow much more familiar. The very air in the room disappeared with one sharp intake of breath, and the murderous hand faltered for a single moment.

The moment came and passed quickly. The room was once again lit by bright green light, formed from two uttered words: _"Avada Kedavra!"_

**October 31st, 1927**

The dark London street was bathed in a blinding flash. It came like a crash of lightning, burning fiercely at the very air with a current of white-hot energy. For a moment, the world stood frozen and time itself had ceased. Nothing moved — as if the buildings, the trees, the wind, the rain, were all holding their breath in anticipation. It was only when the light faded that time was allowed to catch up. The rain resumed in a gentle patter and the autumn breeze rustled through the trees in a hushed exhale. 

Everything was exactly as it had been before, save for one important difference. On the wet pavement sat a small boy with green eyes and a tuft of black hair atop his head, holding a stuffed dog tightly to his chest. He did not cry or make a sound despite the rain soaking through his clothing and the night dropping into frigid temperatures.

Before the child could succumb to the harsh environment, another light poured out onto the streets, this time from the opening of a door. A thin, young woman stood at the doorway, a perplexed expression on her sharp features. The woman, Mrs. Cole, was curiously peering out onto the street for the source of the flash. When she saw the toddler sitting out in the rain, she gasped in horror and hurried down the steps. As soon as she reached him, she picked him up and wrapped him in her apron to protect him from the rain. She looked around as if expecting to find the child's parents nearby, but when she saw only empty streets, her lips pressed together in a sad frown. It was not the first time she had come upon a scene like this one.

Walking him back up to the building, Mrs. Cole took in a few details about the mysterious boy.

The first odd thing she noticed was the injury on his forehead. It was lightly bleeding and appeared quite aggravated. It was a strange shape, much like a bolt of lightning. The second thing she noticed was the jumpsuit the child was wearing. It had the name 'Harry' stitched across the front in green lettering.

"Is that your name then, child?" she spoke to the boy as she carried him inside. He stared back at her with wide, curious eyes. "Well, Harry, let's get you settled then, shall we?"

The doors closed behind Mrs. Cole, darkening the streets once more. The tall, wrought iron gates that surrounded the building read: 'Wool's Orphanage.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get all of the 31 completed chapters up as soon as possible but, with my busy schedule, it may take a little while.


	2. The Drawing

**_October 31st, 1935_ **

The dreams were often the same. They usually started out with a woman who had red hair and green eyes. He never recognized her, but he had the oddest feeling he was supposed to. She seemed afraid, her eyes wide with terror and mouth open in a silent scream, looking at him like _he_ was the monster in this nightmare. The dreams always ended the same too — with the woman being burned away by a flash of green light.

"Happy birthday, Harry!"

Harry's eyes snapped open and the ceiling swirled into view. There was the pitter-patter of rain against the window and the sound of his own shaking breath. He hadn't realized how fast his heart was beating until he tried to breathe. Sitting up, he fumbled for his glasses and pressed them to his face, looking over to the person in his room.

Amy Benson threw her arms around his shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze before stepping back. She then presented Harry with his birthday present: a very wonky drawing of a kitten and a flower. It was drawn in pencil—the only writing utensils the orphans had access to—and there were three words scribbled at the top that read 'Happy Birthday, Harry!'

"Thanks, Amy," Harry said with a slight smile. "It's very pretty."

He’d almost completely forgotten about his birthday. Harry Whitley had lived his entire life in an orphanage, where birthdays and special occasions were barely a note on the calendar. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a real birthday, with a cake and balloons and everything else other children got to have. He had only eaten cake once in his entire life and that'd only been because a baker throwing out old pastries had taken pity on him. Birthdays weren't entirely bad, though, seeing as Mrs. Cole always tried to do something special. Sometimes they’d take a day trip somewhere, or they were given extra helpings at mealtimes, or they got to be the first to have a bath (which was a big deal considering they all shared the same tub of water).

"Mrs. Cole says you don't have to do any chores today," Amy said with a smile, clasping her hands behind her back. "She told me to tell you."

"Oh, but who will do mine then?" Harry asked curiously. The orphans were tasked with a daily chore, and Harry’s was typically sweeping or helping in the kitchen. It wasn't so bad but some days it could get quite dull and tedious.

"I think Tom and Henry," Amy replied with a shrug.

"Oh no, Tom isn't going to be happy about that," Harry groaned. "He’ll probably be extra mean to me now."

Tom Riddle was one of the other children at the orphanage and he was only two months younger than Harry. For as long as Harry could remember, the other boy had absolutely _hated_ him. His very first memory of Tom was when they were four—Harry had been playing with Hannah St. John when Tom had suddenly come over and shoved him. Ever since that day, it’d just been incident after incident of Tom picking on him for no reason at all.

"Tom is such a bully!" Amy said with a frown, her brown eyes hard as she crossed her arms. "He's so weird, too."

"At least he doesn't hate you as much as he does me," Harry mumbled, standing up and setting the drawing on his desk. He proceeded to make his bed, straightening out the blankets and arranging the pillow neatly. Mrs. Cole always checked their rooms every day to make sure they were tidy. The last time he had forgotten to make his bed, he'd been sent down to help with the laundry—easily one of the worst chores to be given. His hands had been prunes by the end of it.

"I think he's just jealous of you," Amy said. "At least, that's what Mrs. Edwards always says when someone is being a bully: that they're just jealous."

Mrs. Edwards was their primary school teacher. She was a very strict woman, but not necessarily unkind. She didn't punish them nearly as much as some of the other teachers. That didn't mean she refrained from smacking them over their hands when they misbehaved, though.

"Why would he be jealous of me?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Tom thinks he's better than everyone."

"I don't know, it was just a thought," Amy shrugged again. "Anyway, you better hurry and get dressed. Mrs. Cole might be up here soon."

With that, Amy turned on her heels and walked out of the room to allow Harry to change. He dressed in a simple pair of grey shorts, a white button shirt, and a dull grey coat. They were hand-me-downs donated to the orphanage and the materials were rather worn (some spots had already needed sewing), but they were at least clean. If there was one thing the run-down orphanage could pride itself on, it was the clean state of both the building and its orphans.

After pulling on his socks, Harry slipped into his shoes and attempted to flatten his hair down. It was always a great source of annoyance to Mrs. Cole, who preferred her orphans to look tidy and Harry's hair was anything but. Try as he might, it only continued to stick up in all sorts of odd directions.

When he walked downstairs, he saw that Henry and Tom were already in the hallway. Henry was sweeping the floor with a broom while Tom just stood there. Already, Harry knew he had somehow coerced poor Henry into doing a bulk of the work. It was a rather common occurrence for Tom to make the other orphans do his chores for him.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Henry greeted cheerfully, pausing his sweeping.

"Thanks, Henry," Harry replied with a smile.

"It's not even his birthday," Tom said, dark eyes turning to Harry. "They don't know when his _real_ birthday is."

"Well, it's close enough, isn't it?" Henry muttered, turning his gaze downward and resuming his work.

"Just seems like a lot of fuss for a fake birthday," Tom continued, keeping his gaze on Harry as if goading him.

Unable to stop himself, Harry bristled and retorted hotly, “You’re just jealous because no one cares about _your_ birthday, Tom.”

That seemed to hit its intended mark because Tom’s eyes hardened instantly. What happened next was not all that unexpected. Harry’s mind was taken over by a slew of unfamiliar images that he recognized as being memories. The odd part, though? He wasn’t seeing them from his own point of view—he was actually seeing them through Tom’s eyes.

_He was sitting completely alone on his sixth birthday. The older orphans were taunting him for being 'weird' and a 'freak’, laughing and jeering over the fact that he had no friends. He'd become so angry that the drapes had somehow caught fire as a result, which only made the other children keep away from him even more. By the end of the day, not a single person had wished him a happy birthday._

Once the memory faded, Harry found himself regretting his words to Tom. It was obvious he’d hit a very sore spot with the other boy (not that he didn’t deserve it on some level) and it made him feel somewhat guilty. He also knew he should probably feel bad for invading Tom’s private memories again, but it wasn’t something he could actually control. It always just _happened_. If anything, he was quite sure it worked the other way around: _Tom’s_ thoughts were invading _his_ mind.

For as long as Harry could remember, he’d been able to see Tom’s thoughts and memories. He knew such a thing shouldn't be possible, but there was no other way to explain it. He wasn’t even sure if Tom himself was aware that it happened, or if he was able to see Harry's thoughts in return, for that matter. All Harry knew for sure was that it was always _just_ Tom's thoughts and that it made his head and scar hurt something awful.

His scar was another odd thing about him. He’d apparently had it since he was a baby, but no one could explain how it got there. It wasn’t a normal scar, either. It had the unique shape of a lightning bolt. The only conclusion Harry could come to about its inexplicable presence was that it must have something to do with his strange mind-reading powers.

"What do you want, Whitley?"

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by Tom’s cold voice, and it dawned on him that he’d been staring at the other boy the entire time he'd been thinking. The realization was mortifying, to say the least, and Harry felt a flush crawl up his neck. He forced a scowl on his face to hide his embarrassment.

"Nothing, _Riddle._ Just wondering if you were going to stand there all day doing nothing.”

Tom looked unaffected by Harry's words. "These are _your_ chores we're doing."

"You mean _Henry_ is doing," Harry shot back, clenching his fists. "You haven't so much as lifted a finger!"

"Feel free to help him out, then,” Tom said, shoving his unused broom into Harry’s hands before walking away.

Harry stared after him in disbelief. "Ohhh, one of these days—" he growled, punching his fist into his palm.

"Don't let him get to you, Harry," Henry offered a sympathetic smile. "I think he messes with you the most because he knows it gets to you."

"And it doesn't get to you?" Harry asked incredulously. "How can you just stand there and do whatever he says?"

"Because bad things always happen when I don't," Henry mumbled. "I'd rather not find spiders in my shoes again."

"I suppose," Harry frowned. "I still think I'd rather have spiders in my shoes than be bossed around by Tom."

It was incredibly frustrating how much influence Tom had over the other orphans. He always managed to get them to do whatever he wanted and no one dared stand up to him anymore—which was admittedly because bad things _really_ did happen to those who tried. Harry was the only one who didn’t bend to Tom’s will, but his tenacity definitely came with a price.

“Wish I was as brave as you,” was Henry’s despondent reply.

“You are, Henry. You just have to believe it.” Harry offered an encouraging smile. “Anyway, we best get back to work before Mrs. Cole tans our backsides”

After they finished their morning chores and had breakfast, they trooped back up to their rooms so they could change into their school uniforms. It was a bit of a hassle to wake up, dress in their day clothing, do their chores, and then go back up to change again. It would have been much easier if they could just work in their uniforms, but Mrs. Cole never allowed it. She wanted their uniforms to stay in pristine condition.

Glancing out the window, Harry noticed that the rain had picked up quite a bit by then. It was beating against the window with ferocity, the city streets barely visible through the haze. It wasn't going to be fun walking to school in that. Sighing, he wrapped a scarf around his neck and picked up his worn-out satchel before heading out to meet the other orphans.

xxxxx

When they returned from school that afternoon, they were immediately sent up to their rooms for study time. Mrs. Cole always made them do coursework for at least two hours a day. It was two hours of torturous and boring silence where absolutely no interaction was allowed, but they at least always had an hour of free-time afterward to look forward to.

Harry walked into his tiny room and pulled all of his study books out. As he was setting them on his desk, his brows furrowed when he noticed something was amiss—an empty spot on the desk that should not have been empty.

The drawing!

Harry checked in his bag, under the desk, under his bed, and even tore away the blankets and linens to make sure it wasn't in there either. After shaking the pages of his books loose, Harry was convinced that the drawing was nowhere in the room. Setting the book back down, he began to wrack his mind for any possible answers regarding the disappearance of the drawing. The only logical explanation he could come up with was that someone must have taken it. Breath hitching, Harry's eyes widened.

_Tom!_

A sudden horrifying thought struck Harry and he ran over to his wardrobe. Throwing the doors open, he yanked open the bottom drawer and dug around inside of it frantically. Relief flooded him when he found what he was looking for—a stuffed black dog. It was quite old and ragged, with one eye missing and its once-soft fur now matted and coarse. It was one of Harry's only personal possessions, which he’d had for as long as he could remember. It had most likely come from his parents and that made it somehow even more important. He always worried that one day Tom was going to find it and steal it just as he did with everyone else's things.

When the panic passed, the anger came full force. He stormed out the door and made a beeline down the hallway with a clenched jaw, fully prepared to unleash his fury and give a certain someone a piece of his mind. The door to Tom's room was ajar but, before he could burst inside and start yelling, something made Harry stop dead. Through the dim lighting, he could see the other boy sitting alone on his small bed, holding something in his hands.

It was Amy's drawing.

But instead of destroying it, as had been expected, Tom was simply staring at it with something akin to jealousy. The forlorn scene caused Harry to recall the memory he'd witnessed earlier that morning and suddenly he couldn’t bring himself to be angry anymore. Instead, he was hit with a sad realization—Tom had never received a birthday present. Perhaps his words from earlier had been truer than he'd realized. No one cared about Tom's birthday.

Harry knew that _logically_ it was Tom's fault that things were that way. He isolated himself from everyone and treated them cruelly. He’d steal their things but had never received a gift out of kindness. No one liked him, everyone feared him, and Tom had effectively made himself friendless. Yet, against all rational and reasonable thought, Harry still felt sorry for him.

In the end, he just turned around and left Tom with the drawing.


	3. The Snake

**December 31 st, 1935**

That morning brought unexpected snowfall. 

As soon as their chores were finished, all of the orphans quickly dressed in their winter clothing and ran outside. Each of them was wearing a new scarf and a pair of handmade mittens that’d been Christmas gifts donated by the local church. They were dull brown in color and a little itchy, but they otherwise did the job. Amy and Hannah were currently trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues, while Dennis, Henry, and Billy Stubbs were attempting to pack enough snow together to make snowballs (even if it didn't look like they were being very successful).

Harry was sitting on the front steps, elbows propped on his knees and chin resting in his hands. He was still recovering from a cold he’d caught about a week ago, so he wasn’t up for doing much more than simply watching the other kids play.

Sniffling, he rubbed at his nose and glanced up when he heard someone come outside, only to scowl heavily upon realizing that it was Tom. He had to resist the urge to get up and move somewhere else, wondering why it seemed like the other boy was constantly and _purposely_ trying to crowd his space as much as possible. Harry never got more than a few minutes to himself before Tom showed up to make his life a living hell.

He did his best to ignore Tom's presence but found himself habitually glancing in his direction every so often. Tom was standing off to the side, his apathetic gaze fixed on the other children as they played. Today was Tom’s birthday but, like every year, no one paid it any mind. As far as Harry knew, the only person to tell Tom ‘happy birthday’ so far was Mrs. Cole (and the general consensus was that she didn’t count because she was ‘obligated to’).

Truthfully, Harry couldn’t imagine not having _any_ friends, nor how lonely it must feel to be ignored on one's own birthday every year. He briefly considered saying something—even if it was just a simple 'happy birthday'. Everyone deserved acknowledgment on their birthday, right? Yet, the knowledge that Tom would just be mean about it and throw it right back in his face caused him to second-guess his decision.

In the end, he remained silent.

Around noontime, Mrs. Cole’s helper, Martha, called them in for lunch. One by one, they stamped the snow off their boots and trekked back into the warmth of the building. Harry coughed into his hands and then removed his scarf and mittens, hanging them up by the door alongside everyone else’s. After walking into the dining hall to join the rest, he took a seat between Henry and Amy.

Their meal was leftover stew, which was comprised of mostly potatoes with sparse bits of grisly meat and soggy vegetables. There was also a slice of crusty bread and a cup of steaming tea to go with it. The tea was plain and bitter, yet Harry still gulped it down eagerly, the warmth of it soothing his sore throat.

"Did you finish the homework Mrs. Edwards assigned us over the holidays, Harry?" Amy asked as she spooned stew into her mouth.

"Most of it," Harry answered, poking at his own stew disinterestedly. “Everything except the maths worksheets.”

In his defense, being ill over the holidays had made it quite difficult for him to do anything other than sleep. He'd spent quite a few evenings slumped over his desk while sluggishly writing essays, fully aware that his current suffering would pale in comparison to whatever punishment he'd receive for not completing his assignments. Mrs. Cole took their schoolwork _very_ seriously.

Unsurprisingly, Tom had his own opinion about the situation.

"Is a little multiplication really that difficult?” he commented from across the table. “You really are dim, aren’t you?”

It was obvious he was trying to goad a reaction out of Harry.

And, as usual, it worked.

" _Shut_ _up_!" Harry snapped in a hoarse voice, chest welling with unconstrained anger. "We weren't talking to you, so mind your own—!"

There was a loud cracking sound as Tom's cup suddenly shattered to pieces, tea splashing _everywhere_. Silence fell throughout the room as everyone stared at the scene in varying states of shock. Hannah and Amy gasped, while Henry’s mouth was hanging comically agape. Even Tom appeared taken by surprise, his eyes uncharacteristically wide as he stared at Harry.

"What is _going_ _on_ in here? What was that sound I heard?"

Mrs. Cole bustled into the dining room, her gaze sweeping over each child suspiciously. When she came to Tom, her eyebrows shot up at the state he was in. Bits of the broken cup were littered at his feet, and the whole front of his shirt was soaked with tea. Her expression quickly turned disapproving as she placed her hands on her hips.

"What happened?"

It was almost artistic how fluidly Tom’s demeanor shifted into one of meek timidity in Mrs. Cole’s presence—a tactic he used to get adults to sympathize with him. Harry’s stomach sank in dread, just knowing that Tom was about to lie and blame the entire thing on him.

"It was an accident," Tom said softly. "The cup slipped out of my hands. I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Cole."

Harry’s head snapped up at Tom’s answer, unable to believe his own ears.

Mrs. Cole shook her head, her lips pressed together. "Must you children be so careless? Have I not taught you to take care of your things?” she chastised and then sighed. “Well, go on. Clean this mess up and change your clothing."

As soon as Mrs. Cole left the room, Tom's expression reverted back, eyes narrowing as he turned to Harry, droplets of tea still dripping down his face. If Harry didn't know any better, he would've thought Tom really _did_ blame him for the incident. The idea was completely preposterous, to say the least. He'd been all the way across the table when the cup broke! It wasn’t _his_ fault that _Tom_ was a clumsy oaf! 

Harry met the glare with one of his own, refusing to back down even if it meant getting into another fight. Eventually, Tom just shoved his chair back and stood up, striding out of the dining hall and leaving the rest of them to clean up the mess. _Typical_. With a sigh, Harry went to fetch the broom and began sweeping up the broken shards on the ground.

"That was so weird," Henry said, mopping up some of the spilled tea with a cloth. "That cup just broke for no reason."

“I just wish Mrs. Cole had actually punished him,” Amy commented with a huff. “ _Perfect_ Tom never gets punished."

"Well, it _was_ an accident," Harry pointed out as he swept the broken cup into the dustpan.

"So?" Dennis scoffed. "It would serve him right. Tom is always getting us in trouble for stuff _he_ does."

Harry knew that Dennis had a point, but there was no way to actually prove that. It was just the way things were and they had to live with it.

When he was done sweeping, Harry went to toss the broken pieces into the rubbish bin and then put the broom away. With his appetite completely gone, he decided against returning to the dining hall and went upstairs to his room instead. Once inside, he toed off his shoes, set his glasses on the desk, and climbed into his rickety bed, suddenly feeling quite exhausted.

Sniffling again, he stared out the window at the falling snow, his eyes soon growing heavy until he drifted off to sleep.

_He was sitting in his room, his attention directed down at a medium-sized snake coiled around his hands. He was whispering to it, and the snake was whispering back._

_“They were talking about me again,” he hissed to the snake. “I heard them.”_

_“What shall I do, master?” the snaked said back._

_“The girl,” he said. “Go to her room and hide in her bed. When she comes back, I want you to bite her. Understand?”_

_The snake flicked its forked tongued. "Yes, master.”_

_"Don't get seen by anyone else," he commanded, placing the snake on the floor._

_The snake slithered across the room and disappeared out the door._

Harry was startled awake as he broke into a violent coughing fit. He sat up and reached for the cup of water he kept at his bedside, waiting for the coughing to subside before he gulped down the rest of it. But as he fumbled for his glasses and pressed them onto his face, he rubbed at his sore chest and took a few deep breaths, now thinking about the dream he'd just had. It'd seemed so _real_. He could vividly recall his surroundings, the sound of his own voice, the way the snake had felt in his hands.

It was such a bizarre, yet familiar feeling...as if it'd been him but _not_ him at the same time.

Sticky with sweat, Harry wiped his forehead and pushed the blankets away, grimacing at the way his clothing clung to his body. His throat was dry and scratchy as well, making him realize how thirsty he was. But as he glanced down at the empty cup in his hand, he begrudgingly got out of bed, deciding to get some more water from the kitchen. He trudged into the hallway but didn’t make it very far when a faint sound caught his attention.

He paused, ears straining until he heard it again. It sounded like… _hissing_.

Curious, Harry began following the sound. The farther he walked, the louder it became until it eventually led him to Amy’s room.

_*I smell a human. Someone has arrived.*_

The voice was strange and _definitely_ did not belong to Amy.

“Is anyone in here?” he called into the room.

No answer.

Heart pounding now, Harry entered the room and glanced around, eyes landing on a strange lump beneath Amy’s blankets. It wasn’t large enough to belong to a person and it appeared to be _moving_. With his curiosity getting the better of him, he quietly moved closer to the bed, hesitating for only a moment before he pulled the blankets back.

He gasped.

There was the snake, lying coiled up in Amy's bed.

"The snake is _real_?”

 _"You're not the girl I am waiting for,"_ the snake said, much to Harry’s shock.

"You...you can talk?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

 _"Of course I can talk, stupid boy!"_ the snake hissed in annoyance. " _It’s more curious that another human can speak my language."_

"You mean...someone else can talk to you? Besides me, that is?" Harry questioned eagerly. For some reason, carrying on a conversation with a snake felt like the most natural thing in the world to do.

 _"Yes, my master talks to me all the time. He is the one who sent me here,"_ the snake answered.

Harry could’ve sworn he saw it nod its head too.

"Who's your master?" he asked, despite already having an idea.

_"My master's name is Tom."_

"How did I guess?" Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. If there was anyone who'd send a snake into a little girl's bed, it was definitely Tom. "Listen, you shouldn't be here, okay? Amy is a really nice girl and I don't want to see her get scared."

 _"But my master told me to stay here,"_ the snake hissed.

"I know, I'm sorry," Harry said, gingerly picking the snake up. It made a noise of aggravation but thankfully didn’t attempt to bite him. "I promise I won't hurt you. I just can't let you do that to—"

"What on Earth do you think you're _doing_?"

Harry's heart plummeted to his feet. Slowly, he turned around and looked up at Mrs. Cole with wide, fearful eyes. He knew it was too late to hide the snake—she had already seen it. Before he could attempt an explanation, Mrs. Cole grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out of the room.

"N-no, Mrs. Cole, wait, I wasn't—"

"Be quiet! Of all the despicable, vile things I've seen!" Mrs. Cole seethed, keeping a tight grip on his arm the entire way down the stairs. "Did you think it would be funny to scare Amy by putting a snake in her bed?"

Harry tried to stutter out a response, stumbling over his own feet as he was taken into the kitchen. Mrs. Cole marched him over to the door that led to the back alley and threw it open.

"Get rid of that thing this instant!" she pointed sharply out the door.

Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly. "No! It's too cold out there! It'll die!"

" _Now!_ " Mrs. Cole yelled. "Do not make me tell you again!"

Shakily, Harry stepped out into the alley and looked around for the warmest place to put the snake. Upon spotting a pile of newspapers and cardboard boxes, he decided to set it down there.

"I'm so sorry,” he whispered to the snake. “You need to find shelter quickly, okay?”

"Hurry it up!" Mrs. Cole shouted from the doorway.

Harry jumped up, sparing one last look at the snake before running to the door, where he was promptly pulled inside by Mrs. Cole. She grabbed his wrists and positioned both of his hands so they were held out in front of him, palms down.

"Keep your hands like that," she ordered. “Do not move.”

While she walked off, Harry did his best to keep himself still despite how much he was trembling. When Mrs. Cole returned, she was carrying a heavy, wooden spoon in her hand.

Even though he knew what was coming, Harry still flinched when the first hit landed with a resounding _‘whack!’_. Sharp pain traveled through his knuckles and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. The punishment lasted for five strikes on both hands, each more painful than the last. By the time it was over, Harry had tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

"You will do double chores for the entire week," Mrs. Cole told him, staring down at him with a stern expression. "I hope this teaches you a lesson about being cruel to others."

"Yes, Mrs. Cole," Harry sniffed, cradling his abused hands. Bright red welts were already blossoming across his knuckles, which were throbbing terribly and bleeding a little.

"You may go now," she told him, giving him a light pat on the back.

Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes and walked out of the kitchen on wobbly legs. All he wanted to do was get back to his room and avoid everyone for the remainder of the day. As he headed up the stairs, however, he ran into the last person he wanted to see. Tom, who was now dressed in clean clothing, was standing there as if he'd actually been waiting for him. Instinctively, Harry tensed up and balled his hands into fists, the action causing him to hiss and wince from the searing pain in his knuckles.

Tom glanced down at his swollen hands with an unreadable expression.

“How’d you do it?”

That was not the smug remark Harry had been expecting and he furrowed his brows. “Do what?”

“Break the cup,” Tom clarified, staring at him.

Harry’s expression morphed angrily, unable to believe Tom’s audacity. Was he _really_ going to pull that now? Right after he'd _just_ taken the blame for one of Tom’s cruel pranks? It was downright infuriating.

“I didn’t break the cup! Now leave me _alone."_

With that, Harry shoved his way past the other and practically stomped the rest of the way to his room. He just needed to get away from Tom. He needed to forget all about him, the snake, his aching hands, and Tom’s birthday.

And just like that, Harry paused, hand frozen on his doorknob.

_Tom's birthday._

Despite all of his anger and frustration, despite everything Tom had put him through, Harry somehow couldn’t bring himself to just leave things like that, with Tom standing in the hallway all alone on his birthday. It was stupid and ridiculous and didn't make _any_ sense whatsoever, but —

Gritting his teeth, Harry closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Happy birthday, Tom.”

Without waiting for a reaction, he slipped inside of his room and closed the door behind him with a resounding _click_.


End file.
